


If The Shoe Fits

by spideywriting (catch_you_later)



Series: whumptober 2019 [10]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie), Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Lives, Unconsciousness, do not copy to another site, no.10, whumptober2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2020-12-07 12:30:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20975939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catch_you_later/pseuds/spideywriting
Summary: Tony figures he's deserved a vacation after the events of the final battle of the Infinity War.It's just his luck that everything goes wrong in his absence.





	1. If The Shoe Fits...

**Author's Note:**

> un-betaed

Tony is going to _kill_ Fury.

He takes a vacation after the last battle against Thanos. He figures he’s earned it, almost dying and all.

It’s just _one_ fucking vacation and of course something goes wrong right away.

Karen notifies him via the NOT MY KID protocol the second Fury appears on the suit's sensors. He can’t believe the nerve of the man. He specifically told him to leave the kid alone and go bother someone else. _Anyone_ else. Surely Captain Marvel can deal with it, if Fury just had the guts to call her? Or Black Panther? Or any actual adult superhero? Peter has had enough on his plate already, just like him.

But nooooo, Fury just had to drag Peter into his scheming.

Luckily Peter proves once again to have a brilliant head on his shoulders and like any rational person, he passes the opportunity, citing wanting to stick to helping the little guy like he used to.

Tony watches him declining Fury’s offer on Karen’s footage and feels inordinately proud. Satisfied, he switches off the feed and returns to Pepper and Morgan.

Peter seems to have everything perfectly under control and he has packing to do.

* * *

The next time he checks in on Peter is after the immersive, absolutely-no-technology-allowed “digital detox” retreat in the Grenadines.

It had been very weird being without any of modern technology, especially his phone, and he had had a low-key anxiousness simmering in the back of his mind the entire time. He had had an unshakable need to check that everything was alright, and he had even found himself missing FRIDAY’s voice. Additionally, Peter's away on a trip and even knowing that he has EDITH as backup, he’d still been worried.

(It hasn’t been easy, dying and coming back alive, for either of them. Peter’s flashbacks, when gets lost in his own mind, his own memories, and can’t find his way back, have been specifically worrisome. Tony has been waiting, deathly afraid of when one of these periods happen during battle.)

And it seems that this time, his instincts were not just his paranoia or overprotectiveness speaking.

Where there are usually at least 5 messages or voicemails per day from Peter, now there’s only one panicked voicemail and even that cuts off midway.

What he can gather from the hasty message makes his stomach lurch and his heart palpitate dangerously. The glasses are on some jerk called Beck – he vaguely remembers someone at SI with the same name –, loaned to him by Peter, so that Beck could use the glasses to calculate the last elemental’s weak spots and defeat it while Peter finished his holiday in peace.

(In hindsight, Tony really should’ve him about the extended features, like the bot army. Maybe the kid would've thought twice about loaning the glasses to anyone. Although the kid _is_ too trusting -- his continued association with Tony himself is proof of that -- so perhaps it would all still have gone the way it did.)

Peter isn’t in his suit.

Instead, Tony has to dig up his vitals from the Stark watch he had forced the kid to keep on his person at all times. When they pop up on his screen, he can feel his already battered heart skip a beat (or three). Peter is unconscious, and his blood pressure readings suggest that he’s suffering from severe blood loss. He activates the body scan feature he had installed the last time the kid came from patrol with an unreported bullet wound, and after the first glance, promptly calls his armor.

(On the way there he overrides EDITH’s code and instructs the glasses to self-destruct. A dark, ugly part of him fervently wishes Beck was wearing them when they blew up. Nobody fucks with his kid and gets away with it.) 

* * *

His heart is racing and lungs shrinking as he fights a panic attack all the way to a railway station in the Netherlands.

He’s shaking uncontrollably inside the armor, mind numb with fear, as he steps on the train.

The sounds around him are always muffled when he’s wearing the helmet, but today it feels like he’s in the bottom of the ocean, the outside world seeps through an extremely fine filter. He doesn't register pushing people out of his way or the affronted exclamations that follow in his wake.

His mind is honed in on the red Spider-Man symbol pulsing in the corner of his visor.

He arrives in the correct car, seeing a cluster of orange-shirted men gathered around the place where the Spider emblem indicates Peter is.

“Hey! Get away from him!” He bulldozes his way through the group, getting the equivalent of ‘oy, what’s your problem, man’ in Dutch as he goes, and finally, _finally_ he’s there.

He had already seen the extensive list of injuries, but seeing them in person is a whole different experience.

Beneath the dirt and blood, Peter’s face is frighteningly pale and slack and tilted limply towards him.

Even unconscious, Peter is holding an arm protectively over his ribs, sticking to them like he could heal broken ribs just by keeping them in place_._ The arm itself is also battered; the fingertips are bloody, the knuckles are caked in blood and dirt and he has apparently broken his middle metacarpal. He breathes in terrible, laborious wheezes that rattle wetly at the end. It seems that some of his broken ribs have punctured either one of his lungs.

Those are just the things Tony sees, but he also has a list of all the things that are wrong under the surface.

There are bone bruises, contusions, lacerations, open wounds and cuts, the aforementioned broken ribs (there are four broken on the right side and two broken on the left one) and a definite concussion. Most of the damage is concentrated on his right side, mainly his ribs and leg, but his back and head have also been through a wringer.

Yet the most scary of these is not the wheezing or the absolutely wrecked right side or the possible comatose state. It's the round hole in Peter’s Kevlar vest, right under his heart. The thought of what would have happened if the blast had been a tiny bit more powerful or the armor any weaker stabs him in his chest painfully.

(He makes a note to himself to make Peter swear never to wear anything other than missile proof Stark tech armors ever again.)

When he’s done <strike>freaking out</strike> cataloging Peter’s injuries, he finds himself collapsed half on the seat beside Peter and half on the floor. His fingers are tightly pressed to Peter’s wrist, his senses focused on the pulse throbbing (too weak) beneath his fingertips.

He stands up, and carefully gathers Peter into his lap, trying his best to be gentle and not aggravate his injuries.

He’s forgotten his audience in his panic, and flinches as he finds them staring at him as he turns around with his kids in his arms. The orange-shirted men surrounding them are all looking at him with soft, compassionate expression. One of them is even teary-eyed.

Tony suddenly feels very uncomfortable.

“What?” he barks, trying to hide this vulnerable, cut-open feeling behind his snappish tone. Like his heart had been exposed and _seen_ and not found wanting. It’s not something Tony is used to and he doesn’t know how to handle it.

One of the men smiles softly, looks at him, then nods at Peter, and asks, “Son?” in a lilting accent.

This, at least, is an easy question to answer.

He glances at the precious child in his arms, and finds himself answering in an equally soft tone, “…yes.”

And he leaves in a rush, because getting his child to a hospital is and will always be his first priority.

Killing Fury (and Beck) can wait.

For now.


	2. ...Why Not Wear It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens after Peter wakes up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is, finally! I'm sorry it took me so long, I've been in a pretty bad place both physically and mentally these three months so it has been really difficult to write as well. Plus I was kind of terrified you all would not like this as much as the previous chapter so that fear kept me back as well. Alas, this is what I ended up writing, so here goes nothing!
> 
> I do hope you'll like it.
> 
> Thank you all for your comments on the previous chapter and enjoy the story. <3

The machines are beeping loudly.

He taps his hand against his phone.

The IV drips steadily.

He shifts in his chair. Brushes a hand through his hair. Clears his throat.

The machines continue beeping.

He checks the vitals again. They’re the same as the last time he checked 3 minutes ago.

He taps his email folder open on his phone. Stares at the screen. Locks it without opening any mails.

The machines continue beeping.

And Peter is as still as he has been ever since he got out of surgery 1 hour, 26 minutes and 45 seconds ago.

He knows he should be out looking for Beck and leaving angry voicemails to Fury. But as soon as he was allowed to check up on Peter, he found he couldn’t leave the kid. Can’t even consider it. His kid just looks so _vulnerable_, the white sheets surrounding him and the IV lines snaking around him making him look smaller, younger. And there’s no one else here. May should probably be notified, but Tony’s kind of terrified of that so he promised himself to call only after Peter wakes up. No point making her worry too much when the kid isn’t even awake to reassure her (their) worries.

He hates Quentin Beck more and more every minute the kid’s spends unconscious in a fucking _hospital bed_ in London instead of gallivanting around Prague or Paris or wherever with his friends. (And hadn’t that been fun, frantically trying to get a hold of Dr. Cho and finding out that she’s been in a secret SHIELD base in England. Clearly Fury had been anticipating _something_ going wrong all along. Yet he still chose to bring _his child_ into it.)

He’s immersed so deep in his contemplation of the best revenge plans against both Fury and Beck that he almost misses the beeping speeding up a little. He’s just noticed the change when rustling from the bed calls his attention onto its patient.

Peter’s eyelids are fluttering like he wants to open his eyes but can’t quite manage to do it. Tony is torn between assuring himself that Peter is actually okay and wanting him to recover a bit more.

Before he can decide, Peter croaks a painful sounding “Mr. Stark”, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask, and Tony finds himself rushing to get Peter a cup of water (_stupid, stupid, he’s a supposed genius, why didn’t he think to prefill one anyway?_), and throwing a hasty “don’t speak – actually, don’t move either and _don’t_ touch the mask or the IV – kid, I’ll be right back” over his shoulder.

He half-runs to the water tap in the hallway, filling a cup with shaky hands, and power-walks back to the hospital room. And stops dead in his tracks in the doorway.

Peter is in the process of propping himself up on the headboard.

“Peter!” The reprimand rips from his chest almost involuntarily, panic coloring his voice as he hurries to help him. _This goddamn kid_.

The tiny whimpers and grunts of pain Peter makes while he helps him up stab mercilessly deep into his heart. When the kid is upright, he flounders for a moment, before giving two awkward, meant-to-be-reassuring taps on his shoulder. He winces.

It does seem to give some comfort though, since Peter gives him a tiny smile, barely perceptible through the plastic of his mask. The corners of his mouth flicker upwards in response before the guilt presses them back down again.

He helps the kid remove the mask (the nurses said that as soon as the kid woke up properly he was allowed to take it off) and supports the glass while he drinks the water in tiny, careful sips. As soon as the glass is empty, Peter begins, “I’m so sorry Mr. Stark, I—"

There’s another stab in his heart.

“No kid, don’t say sorry. This was _zero_ percent your fault. You hear that? Zero. Zilch. Nada. Nu-uh. _Not_ your fault.”

Peter’s eyes are huge, filled with all-too-familiar guilt and remorse. The set of his shoulders is tight, tense, pressured, like he carries the whole world on his shoulders.

It’s like looking into a mirror.

_Damn_. He wished his kid had years and years before he had to carry this kind of burden. Then again, this is the reality of life as a superhero – a life his kid had entered way before Tony even met him – the expectations and safety of a world filled with ungrateful people weighing heavy on too young, too inexperienced shoulders. And now there’s not even a proper team to share the weight with.

Tony really hates his forced retirement.

Unable meet the kid’s too old, too heavy gaze any longer, he tugs him into a tight, comforting hug.

“I’ve got it now, kid. I’ve got it. You did your best and that’s enough. Hell, that’s more than enough, it was almost too much. You can forget it now. Hear me, Pete?” He holds the kid as close as he dares – mindful of his injures – mumbling reassurances into his hair. “Forget it. Now your only job is to get better. Also, you’re not allowed on any single missions _ever_. And even a mission with backup, you’ll need a permission from me and me only. We’ll create a special permission slip just for this. I don’t care if it’s Hill or Fury or anyone asking, you’re not _allowed_, hear me? Punch them and run away if you have to, you’re _not_ doing this again.”

Peter, a bit stiff at first, relaxes at the first ‘forget it’, and is quietly sobbing into Tony’s shirt by the end of his rant. He just tightens his hold and slides careful fingers into his kid’s hair, soothing his child as best as he can. Something cold drips onto his fingers and glancing down, he realizes his vision is impaired by tears streaming down his face. He hadn’t noticed he had started crying as well.

Peter’s hands come up to grasp at his shirt desperately, and Tony starts swaying and stroking his son’s back lightly in response, mumbling countless reassurances into his hair.

“Just cry it all out, Pete.”

“I’m here.”

“It’s okay, son. It’s okay.”

“We’re okay.”

Eventually their crying slows down, first into tiny hiccups and then just deep, slightly congested breathing.

They spend a moment like that. Just breathing.

The guilt is still there, but reassuring feeling of having his kid safe and sound in his arms has caused the debilitating stabs to turn into a dull ache. Still there, but more bearable. There’s a fierce protectiveness burning in his heart that’s claimed the space left behind, right alongside the tender rightness, the contentedness of holding his kid safe in his arms again. He almost lost his kid today. _No more_, he vows to himself. _I’ll keep you safe. Whatever it takes_.

More than anything else, though, Tony feels _tired_. He’s sure that tomorrow morning he’ll find some new grey hairs in his hair and beard.

After some time, when Tony is contemplating on how to settle the kid to sleep in the hospital bed with as little jostling as possible, the kids shifts, gearing up to say something.

“…did you just call me ‘son’?”

Tony freezes, his shoulders tensing and his hand stopping its soothing motion.

Peter chuckles tiredly.

“…t’was nice. Much better than ‘Underoos’.”

There's a weird, squeeze-y feeling in Tony's chest. It's not a bad feeling though. Not anywhere near like guilt. More like relief and...fondness. He squeezes the kid closer again, mindful of the injuries. It's as much to comfort the kid as it is to reassure himself that the kid is really okay. Well, not okay, nothing about this situation and the events leading to it are okay, but at least the kid is now safe with him and on the way to recovery.

“…glad you liked it. Not going to ditch that one though.”

Peter lets out a tired snort.

“Figured.”

A calm silence envelops them again for a moment.

“I love you son.” The words are said in a strained whisper, full of suppressed emotion.

“I love you too, dad.” The answer is just as quiet, radiating warmth and fond affection.

In the end, they both fall asleep right there.

* * *

BONUS SCENE NO. 1

“We needed to keep up the cover—"

“And you needed a sixteen-year-old _child_ for that? I admit, I don’t know much about your culture, but I can’t imagine you would let a egoistical madman play mind games with your child either, much less let them get hit by a fucking_ train_. Am I wrong?”

“No, but Fury said—"

“I don’t know what games you’re playing with Fury, but do not – I repeat – _do not_ bring my kid into it. Under _any_ circumstances. Are we clear?”

“It was—"

“_Are. We. Clear?_”

“…yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

* * *

BONUS SCENE NO. 2

Decking Beck on the nose feels _extremely_ satisfying. The crack it makes is a sweet symphony to his ears. The enraged, unhinged cursing even more so.

He sends the man away with a smug smirk with sharp edges, transmitting a deadly warning:

_Don’t touch my son._

He very much enjoys the flicker of fear he glimpses before the doors of the SHIELD vehicle clang shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this was supposed to be a bit longer, but this seems to be the best I can manage right now. And in the end, I kind of like even the shorter versions of the bonus scenes. I hope you did too!
> 
> Please leave a kudo and/or a comment if you liked this, they will be greatly appreciated!


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